We'll Meet Again
by born30
Summary: Speculative tag to 11.02 from Ziva's POV; The means, she told herself, would justify the end, even if Tony would undoubtedly see it otherwise.


**Disclaimer: _NCIS_ is not mine. The show and the original characters belong to Don Bellisario, Gary Glasberg, and CBS. This was written strictly for fun, not for profit.**

**A/N: Sooo****…this came out of the spoilers for the 11.02 episode, obviously, although I was thinking specifically from Ziva's POV and what would be realistic reasons/feelings for her character to have for leaving the team. I know it's hard to think about her leaving, but r****emember, at lo levad. - Tatiana**

* * *

Ziva David stepped out onto the balcony off the hotel room, quietly dragging the sliding door shut behind her. The early hour did not prevent the concrete-and-glass capital city from beginning to stir under the cover of darkness. Artificial lights bloomed in the neighboring high-rises and the rumble of vehicles floated up from the streets below.

Already, the country of her birth was stifling. It was a heat with privileges to her body, able to seep under her flesh without asking permission and raise unbidden memories to the surface along with beads of tangy sweat. She refused any burgeoning recollections and turned her back on the panorama, lowering down into the rigid embrace of a patio chair. The silky fabric of her robe sighed against her skin, offering little by way of protection from the pervasive warmth laying claim to every part of her.

In her hand, she clutched her smartphone. She was a woman of many gifts; but, asking for help was not one of them. It was only that… she had no other option.

It had never been her plan to drag anyone along on this journey with her. Involving others where they did not belong was the very reason she was in Israel now, the first of many planned stops to be made on the path to her repentance, and not solely for recent events. Her own sin was great, but the sin of her family was greater. The absolution she sought was for her blood.

However, showing up when and where she least expected him was one of Tony DiNozzo's most infuriating talents.

Once, it had been in a terrorist camp in the Somali desert. It happened again at a dingy D.C. apartment, only a few months earlier. And a week ago, it was here in Tel Aviv. It staggered her to discover the many doors his dogged search had taken him to, the unsavory conversations he'd had with those he distrusted—all in an attempt to find his misplaced partner who did not want to be found.

A shadow of movement, spotted out of the corner of her eye, snapped her head around, but unless she was to count the ghosts of fatigue and anxiety that haunted the crevices of her reflection in the glass door, she was still alone. For a moment, she thought Tony had awoken, despite her attempts to be silent.

How had he convinced her to let him stay? _Oh yes_, Ziva recalled, smiling privately as she settled down again, the stale breeze tousling strands of bronze hair over her shoulders. With his words, speaking truths she had long suspected but that finally breathed their own air; with his knowledge of her painful secrets—learned from others and from herself—that he in-turn swallowed as his own; and with his acceptance, laced on healing lips, pressed to the hollows of her body, the illusive silhouette of her soul.

And so it went for longer than she intended. Until now.

What came next was for her to execute alone. The means, she told herself, would justify the end, even if Tony would undoubtedly see it otherwise. Perhaps he would understand, someday.

But first, she had to make a call.

(/)(/)(/)

With a final adjustment of her high ponytail, Ziva exited the bathroom and was greeted by an overlap of voices and atmospheric music, a tell-tale combination to her ears after all these years as his partner, but especially after this week.

Only Tony could find American films to watch on Israeli television. He'd made an effort with the language and with the customs, and yet her homeland had done nothing to break him of his movie addiction.

Turning the corner brought him into view. Back propped against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, the sandy-haired agent flipped his gaze away from the TV set at her entrance.

"Hey. I haven't seen this one in years," he offered up with a nod to the screen, even though she had not inquired. "Kind of an underrated World War II flick despite the top-notch cast. A young Vanessa Redgrave and a pre-_Pretty Woman_ Richard Gere…what's the matter?"

She was fearful he was becoming too comfortable here in this unnatural arrangement, too willing to forego the security of his life and the accountabilities he owed to it for the unknown that being with her entailed, and that fear must have toppled her usual strongholds to commandeer her expression.

Before she had a chance to formulate an excuse, Tony had switched off the television with a click of the remote and scooted down the mattress.

"Come here."

Ziva made her way over to where he sat at the foot of the bed and felt herself being towed closer by the circle of his arms around her hips, drawing her to stand between his legs. So far, he'd had no trouble taking every possible advantage of his newly-issued license to her body. She tilted her head down at him, the cheeky smile he had waiting for her prodding the corners of her own lips upwards.

"So, what are we gonna do today? More sightseeing? Lunch with Schmeil?" A beat. "Catching a flight home with me?"

The suggestion came as no surprise to her; he'd repeated it every day since tracking her down. And every day, she gave him the same reply.

"That is a wonderful idea... for you."

"I'm not leaving without you." His grip on her tightened, as if to prove the sincerity of his threat.

She expelled a deep sigh. "We have been over this, Tony. I cannot go back to NCIS."

"Oh, but you can," he countered, a sharp edge to his conviction. "You know why? Because despite what you've made yourself believe, you haven't 'disgraced the badge'."

"Yes, I did." The note of finality in her tone stilled the air in the room.

His eyebrows were suspended high over hazel eyes, piercing in their brightness that morning. Ziva had to look away, or else she might have been blinded by their intensity.

"You know very well it is more than that," the brunette continued, her voice returned to its usual state of control. "I need to repent. I need to make things right with those I have endangered. Try and understand that."

Ziva risked a glance in his direction and saw what she already felt against her stomach: the gentle lean of his clean-shaven cheek on the soft cotton of her shirt.

"I _understand_," Tony emphasized as he nuzzled under the fabric, seeking out the sliver of skin above the waistband of her pants. A shiver coursed the length of her spine when his lips touched the sensitive area, depositing tender kisses in a trail up to her hipbone, which he took time to nibble before leisurely coming back to where he'd started.

"Let me help you."

Regardless of the heady spell that his skillful ministrations were casting over her, she still heard his plea. To restore her to her regular existence—with the team and with him—it seemed Tony was willing to do anything.

But when tomorrow came and this all ended—when _she_ ended it—she did not want him to despise her more than he already would.

That was why her slender fingers slipped into the downy hair at his temples, raking paths to the nape of his neck and guiding his head back, effectively gathering his attention into her calm gaze.

"Tony, there is something we should discuss…"

The buzz of his smartphone from the nightstand acted as an unwelcome interruption. Tony heaved a sigh and made no move towards the ringing device.

"Do you need to answer that?"

"No." Not answering his phone had become a recurring theme over the past few days. "What I need is for you to say yes."

There was no need for her to question what he meant, for Tony was presently standing and sweeping her into his strong arms. Their bodies fit together with a familiarity they hadn't yet known when he pulled her out onto the dance floor of the Berlin club for a similar twirl; they'd gained much in so little a span of time.

"It does not seem I have a choice," Ziva remarked, chuckling spontaneously.

"That's the spirit," he encouraged, his hand curving to the small of her back as he swayed them side-to-side. "Now just relax and don't try to convince me you're not enjoying this."

Ziva _was_ enjoying it, despite her better judgment, and she indeed began to relax into the pleasant diversion that he was providing, made all the more lulling with the addition of his deep voice spilling into her ear.

"…_we'll meet again_, _don't know where, don't know when_…" Tony crooned the whispered lyrics, recognizable to her from the music that had been playing in the movie. "…_but I know we'll meet again, some sunny day_…"

As his singing drifted off, his mouth finding a new purpose in peppering the side of her neck with one lingering kiss after another, she realized telling him now would destroy this man who loved her. In the same way he could take her mind off her worries, even momentarily, she could sense what he needed as well.

She could give him this memory, of when he believed they had just met again, when their latest separation was to be their last, repaired by his determination, by finding her when no one else could, and ahead of them was nothing but sunny days…

Yes, she could give him that, at least for another day.

(/)(/)(/)

The airfield was awash in a golden sunset as Ziva maneuvered the vehicle onto the closed-off tarmac, driving on in the direction of the cargo plane further down the runway. As a child, she and her sister, Tali, would chase such sunsets on the outskirts of the Negrev desert near their home, running toward the horizon with their skinny arms stretched out, striving to prolong the inevitable. Now, there was nothing she would do to prevent the events of this day from coming to fruition.

"What finally changed your mind?" From the passenger seat, Tony squeezed her knee and smiled, visibly reveling in what he thought was the success of winning her over. "I mean, I know I got moves, but just for future reference."

Ziva stopped at a safe distance from the military transport and put the car in park, but left the engine running. She unbuckled and shifted toward him. He was terribly handsome in that split second, a ghost of stubble swathing his neck and jaw, his lips hitched at the corner. It was not enough, though, to sway her resolve.

"You are going home, Tony."

His hand switched from owning her knee to curling around her fingers. "Not alone, I'm not."

"You will not be alone," she affirmed. "But you will not be with me."

A gesture of her head indicated out beyond the windshield to the silver-haired man exiting the fuselage, his presence fulfilling the request she made in her early-morning phone call over 36 hours earlier.

She knew the instant the dots connected in Tony's mind, and watched as enlightenment dawned on the parts of his face not concealed by dark sunglasses. Then he exhaled a sound too harsh to constitute the laugh he was aiming to produce.

"You two plotting against me now?"

"I know that the team has been calling you…you were not supposed to be gone this long."

"And what exactly was your plan?" The tight set of his jaw was doing nothing to restrain the acidity in his tone. "Have Gibbs come pick me up as if I'm some wayward kid, and then—"

"My only _plan _was to keep you safe," Ziva cut in on a burst of frustration. "You would not leave on your own, so I did what I thought best."

Tony wrenched the frames off his face, exposing narrowed eyes. "Well, you sure have a funny way of showing you care."

The Israeli did not shy away from his anger, stoically absorbing every crackling wave that rippled off his body. She was not proud of the way she was hurting him, yet it was preferable to the ramifications of her revenge mission harming him instead, or any of them: her team, her friends, her family.

Not waiting for further explanation, Tony was out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. She also stepped out into the arid heat. It had been wise not to make him aware of this earlier; she wouldn't have gotten him to the airfield otherwise.

From the trunk, Ziva retrieved his single bag, which she'd packed during his shower that morning, and then joined him near the hood, where he'd been standing—hands on his hips—since storming out of the car.

"It was too good to be true, I guess."

Her ears were far too attuned to the distinct resonance of his voice not to detect his words, obscured as they were by the slicing wind and the distant growl of airplane engines. How much simpler this would be, she thought, if she hadn't let him into her life that past week and into her heart, ever.

But some things could not be helped.

Tony wheeled on his heel to face her, dragging a hand down over his mouth and chin. His hazel eyes darted around the space above her head.

"So we're beyond the point where I can say something to change your mind..."

It wasn't so much a question as a statement she knew he was hoping would be refuted. That she could not do, but she chanced a step forward, and if nothing else, her closeness pinned down his gaze.

"Listen to me. This is to be my _teshuva_. Mine," she stressed, though using her native language was unlikely to lend her plight clarity. No translation was required for the flat palm she placed on his chest, over his heart. "I need to do this on my own."

"No, you want to do it," Tony corrected her. "Without me."

Ziva only broke away from his weighted stare at the movement in her peripherals. Showing no signs of jet lag as a result of the fifteen hour flight from D.C. to Tel Aviv, Gibbs jogged towards them, no doubt with the intent of expediting their goodbye.

Strong hands seized either side of her arms, garnering her attention back onto him. The previous spark of anger in his eyes had dimmed to a dusky ache, and when given a choice between the two, she decided the latter was worse.

"Don't do this, Ziva." It was his final plea.

The vivid setting sun peeked over his shoulder, forcing her to squint until his head dipped at just the right angle to both block out the glare and capture her mouth in a searing kiss.

Even with their short time as lovers, it was instinct to return the pressure of his lips against her own. That their boss was most certainly witnessing the display of affection proved no diversion. He was no longer _her_ boss, after all.

But she did not want to make this harder than it already was…for either of them. It was with that thought in mind that she twisted her mouth and her body out of his embrace, stepping back to allow the breeze to once again sweep between them.

"It is time for you to go."

The heavy footfalls that announced Gibbs's arrival served as corroboration, and yet it seemed that Tony was oblivious to his boss barking reminders about the waiting plane. His full focus tapered in on her.

"Be safe," he intoned with the intensity of a promise.

She nodded once, numbly. Then the special agent grabbed his luggage, turned his back on her, and began striding away, finally doing what she'd been asking of him all along.

Gibbs moved into her line of sight and somehow, his face reserved all judgment. Better than anyone, her father figure understood her demons—and her chosen method of fighting them.

"Take care of yourself, Ziver." He deposited a kiss on her forehead.

"Take care of _him_," she shot back.

His chin dipped in acknowledgement, and then he was walking away from her as well.

She recognized the scene in front of her. In a similar manner, she'd sent these same two men out of her life over four years earlier. Back then, she hadn't only been ambiguous as to when they would be reunited, she truly believed they would never again see her alive.

This time, Ziva realized that it didn't matter how far she and Tony traveled in separate directions: she would never be able to leave him behind. His scent had seeped into her skin; when she closed her eyes, it was his face she saw behind the lids; and her ears rang with his voice, his easy laughter.

Climbing into her car, she sped down the tarmac before the plane was even off the ground. Gusts of warm Tel Aviv air slivered inside through the cracked window and stirred up the memory of Tony's impromptu singing from the day before. She didn't bat it away, though, as she'd done with so many memories since arriving in Israel. She held onto it.

And though she honestly did not know where or when, what she did know, with a certainty she couldn't explain, was that…yes, someday, they would indeed meet again.


End file.
